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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26807659">Ghost Story</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessPestilence/pseuds/MiladyMorningstar'>MiladyMorningstar (PrincessPestilence)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Ultra Blue Rare Pairs [10]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bigotry &amp; Prejudice, Enemies With Benefits, Enemies to Lovers, Exhibitionism, F/M, Fat Shaming, Hate Sex, Non-Consensual Voyeurism</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:34:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,128</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26807659</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessPestilence/pseuds/MiladyMorningstar</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Death is a lot easier to live with when you have company. Myrtle will take what she can get.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Moaning Myrtle/Vincent Crabbe, Myrtle Warren/Vincent Crabbe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Ultra Blue Rare Pairs [10]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2214195</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Ghost Story</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So I've decided to do a halloween series and this idea has been rolling around my head for a couple years  but I haven't been motivated until now. It's pretty much 45% fighting, 45% sex, and 10% philosophizing. Enjoy</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The thing about dying is that nothing changes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Literally.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, maybe it does change for those who pass on, but for the ones who stay, life goes on the same as it ever did. Or rather it stops exactly where you are and you continue in exactly the same place for eternity; a hamster on a wheel while real-life passes inexorably by in a race you’ll bever catch up to. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If, for example, you died as an angry, frustrated seventeen-year-old your eternal afterlife will be spent in a haze of angry, frustrated, teenage angst. Never aging. Never growing, physically or emotionally. Ten, a hundred, a thousand years pass and you’ll never not be an angry teenager. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Vince finds this out slowly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He can’t quite tell how much time has passed, the flow moving at a different pace than it did when he was alive, changing in seasons rather than days. He can’t tell if it’s been weeks or months or years since the fire, since the battle he gave his life for. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He realises this truth as each new day comes - or, whatever it is when a ghost wakes up from the nothingness they disappear to. No words have been invented to delineate time for a realm where time is entirely arbitrary. He suddenly is when he wasn’t before, and though he knows that time </span>
  <em>
    <span>has</span>
  </em>
  <span> passed, that he has </span>
  <em>
    <span>done</span>
  </em>
  <span> this time and time before, the fog of </span>
  <em>
    <span>fury,</span>
  </em>
  <span> of </span>
  <em>
    <span>hatred,</span>
  </em>
  <span> of </span>
  <em>
    <span>righteous frenzy</span>
  </em>
  <span> never seems to fade away. The world runs away from him, but here he remains in that night, blood boiling and the smell of smoke permeating his nose. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The thing about dying is that not everyone becomes a ghost. The overwhelming majority of people move on to whatever exists beyond the living realm, rather than becoming caught like so many spiders in the stratosphere. Most people expect their deaths. Most people reconcile their passing unconsciously, accepting the many risks that arise as a consequence of living. Many people go into their deaths knowingly, expectantly. It’s for this reason why although the sheer psychic saturation of battle may be felt by even the most closeminded of muggles, soldiers themselves rarely stay afield. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Becoming a ghost requires a certain level of unacceptance and surprise. If, say, you were crying in the toilets then look up and suddenly you’re dead - well. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Myrtle is actually very well versed in ghost-theory. She was at the top of her class, in fact. When she is lost in the loneliness and despair and sheer </span>
  <em>
    <span>bitterness </span>
  </em>
  <span>she often finds herself dwelling on how utterly unfair it is that she is forced to languish here, unable to leave this thrice-damned school with its endless throngs of cruel, ignorant children. She doesn’t know these faces but she </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows</span>
  </em>
  <span> them, their heartless sneers and self-important posturing. She thinks </span>
  <em>
    <span>all the time</span>
  </em>
  <span> about the injustice of being forced to haunt these walls that so tortured her when she was alive. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She felt the ripple of a new addition to the Hogwarts School for the Dead and Damned, and can only hope that one of those cute boys maybe got stuck on these shores of Acheron with her, rather than another dusty old man. The Grey Lady doesn’t count, as she doesn’t speak to anyone. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Although the pipes are her domain, she isn’t limited to </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> the bathrooms. It’s just that they’re easier to travel and easier to make herself seen there. In reality, she </span>
  <em>
    <span>can</span>
  </em>
  <span> travel throughout the school as well as all the other ghosts. She does so now, scaling the castle all the way to the seventh floor. </span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>She used to come up here all the time, right after she died, trying to get back into her dorm room, but there was usually someone else sleeping in her bed so she stopped bothering, instead choosing to flicker in and out from the comfort of her lavatory. And it </span><em><span>was </span></em><b><em>her</em></b> <span>lavatory. She could almost content herself with that. For a while, at least. </span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Following the almost-not-quite warmth that was another spirit, Myrtle pushes her way through the wall in the seventh-floor corridor and into the Room of Requirement. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Room is a burnt husk, or at least it appears that way to her eyes. It’s cavernous and the floors are covered in ashes, the walls blackened with soot and smoke. She wants to cough. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sitting against the wall, head in hand, is a figure, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes!</span>
  </em>
  <span> it does look like a student. She glides closer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” she deflates. “It’s you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She recognises this boy, one of the nameless hangers-on of Draco Malfoy. She did actually make an effort to pay attention to what was going on at the school, invested as she was in their dramas. It was all the entertainment she was going to get, after all. And Draco was </span>
  <em>
    <span>unfairly</span>
  </em>
  <span> cute, really. All tall pale skin and fine white-blond hair and wiry muscles…. Mmmmm. One of the tastiest morsels she’s seen in a </span>
  <em>
    <span>long</span>
  </em>
  <span> time. Harry, too, though personally, she found him more cute than hot, with his shorter, slighter frame and perpetually messy hair, like a shaggy puppy. And the sheer magnitude of the nonsense they went through, it was like a radio soap. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This boy, though, was a nobody. She only vaguely recognised him, and looking at him now he was incredibly disappointing. Average height and fat to boot. No hint of a tantalising beard, hair slicked back unflatteringly. And so </span>
  <em>
    <span>angry</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Honestly, he was dead. Get over it already. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Myrtle?” the boy asks as if she could be anyone else. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course it’s me,” Myrtle rolls her eyes, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>You</span>
  </em>
  <span> though… I was hoping for your friend. What’s your name again?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Vince…” the boy - Vince, apparently, answers dazedly. “What do you mean, ‘my friend’? You’d rather have </span>
  <em>
    <span>Goyle</span>
  </em>
  <span> here, that weak-willed lackwit?” He scoffs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No! Draco, you idiot! Or at least someone nice to look at.” Vince’s face goes red and splotchy as his non-existent blood pressure spikes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How is it that I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>dead</span>
  </em>
  <span> and I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>still</span>
  </em>
  <span> second best to Draco fucking Malfoy?! He’s nothing special, you know! He’s not the best at quidditch cos he never </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span> beat Potter, and he’s not the best student cos he kept losing out to that mudblood bitch Granger, he’s-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Watch who you’re calling a mudblood Porky,” Myrtle fires back, incensed. Ugh, right. One of </span>
  <em>
    <span>those</span>
  </em>
  <span> kids. As if blood status mattered one little flyspeck in the grand scheme of things. If it weren’t for ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>mudbloods’</span>
  </em>
  <span> like her, (or, well, not her in particular, obviously) all the so-called purebloods would have inter-bred themselves out of existence by now. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t tell me </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’re</span>
  </em>
  <span> one of them,” Vince spits, face screwing up in the perfect caricature of supercilious disgust. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know that slur doesn’t even make sense? You can’t muddy water until you </span>
  <em>
    <span>mix</span>
  </em>
  <span> it with mud! </span>
  <em>
    <span>My </span>
  </em>
  <span>blood isn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>mixed </span>
  </em>
  <span>at all! Pureblood pedigreed </span>
  <em>
    <span>muggle</span>
  </em>
  <span> blood, not that anybody cares.” Myrtle huffs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nobody </span>
  <em>
    <span>does</span>
  </em>
  <span> care!” Vince fires back, scrambling to his feet. “Nobody in the whole world has ever given a single, solitary shit about you </span>
  <em>
    <span>or</span>
  </em>
  <span> what you think! You’re nothing! Just a dead little mudblood nobody ever liked!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Myrtle’s eyes watered as the familiar despair washed over her, his words striking bruises that hadn’t faded in sixty years. “I might be a dead little mudblood, but at least people remember me as my own person, rather than Draco Malfoy’s nameless, fat shadow. You think </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone</span>
  </em>
  <span> is mourning </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Because let me tell you, I’ve been roaming this castle for </span>
  <em>
    <span>months</span>
  </em>
  <span> and not a single person has said your name. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dozens </span>
  </em>
  <span>of students died at that battle you know. And not a one of the living has ever mentioned you.” Tears streaming down her face, Myrtle wailed, letting the heartbreak take her away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Moaning Myrtle was about as easy to avoid as a ghost as she had been when he’d been alive. Which is to say that he didn’t see her until some months (years? weeks?) later. It took some time before Vince was really up to leaving the Room, to be honest, and even once he’d figured it out, he still wasn’t really able to make himself visible, so he just floated silently by faceless students he didn’t know if he should recognise or not, but it wasn’t like he really paid that close of attention to every single person he passed by in a school of almost a thousand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was watching Quidditch practice. The Slytherin team had just finished and Vince was so caught up that he followed the team into the showers out of habit. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Unlike the living, ghosts can see each other all the time, which meant that he noticed immediately when Myrtle showed up like clockwork to hover in the mist around the stripping boys. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He almost called out to shoo the creepy little pervert away until she hiked up her skirt and stuck a hand down her knickers. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Boggling a little, Vince trips back into the shadows, just watching. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Unlike Myrtle, Vincent has never made a habit of spying on people while they were naked, and, while he’d had a girlfriend once, for a few weeks back in fourth year, he’s never </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually</span>
  </em>
  <span> seen a naked woman before. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He watches as she strokes herself, hand moving under the erotically white fabric as her chest heaves. After a few moments, the boys around them each going to stand under the spray. As the boys begin soaping up, Myrtle wriggles her knickers down her legs, flicking them off one foot before they disappear into the aether. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This is another surprise, as Vince honestly never even considered removing his clothes. Where did they go? Would he get them back? Surely he must, as this can’t have been the first time Myrtle has done this little manoeuvre in all these decades.  She must get her clothes back somehow. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Experimentally, Vince tugs off his green and silver striped necktie, and lets it flutter away into nothingness. Weird. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eyes back on Myrtle, Vince almost chokes when he sees her spread open before him. She’s too far away for him to see any details, but he can just make out the hint of pink folds between her milky thighs, a blur of dark hair that she dips her fingers into. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Moaning Myrtle may not be anyone’s dream girl, but that doesn’t make his prick any less interested. Vincent gasps as he palms his thickening cock over his trousers, ears deaf to any sound but the thudding of his own heartbeat in his ears. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sees as she switches her attention from the perky little clitoris to thrust two one finger, then two into her body. The dead-space between them echoes as Myrtle </span>
  <em>
    <span>moans</span>
  </em>
  <span> and for a flash Vince wonders if this is how she really earned her name because she cries out with absolutely no shame or inhibition, comfortable in the fact that one here can hear her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After that, Myrtle doesn’t let up, crying out in short little “uhn-uhn-uhn” with every inward thrust, and long, moaning wails as she massages what must be her sweet spot inside. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She comes in a sudden explosion, her eyes fixed on the arse of one dark-skinned boy rinsing off in front of her. Her piercing scream of ecstasy startles Vince into his own orgasm, and he feels the front of his trousers dampen inexplicably, gasping aloud, though the sound is drowned out by Myrtle’s piercing cry. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Myrtle disappears from the showers, Vince follows suit, lost in a haze of almost-satisfaction. Following the call back to the site of his death, Vince arrives back in the Room of Requirement in the blink of an eye between sleep and wakefulness. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he looks down at himself, his tie is perfectly fastened around his neck and his crotch is dry.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Slytherin bigot has started to follow her around. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After Quidditch, after prefect duties, anywhere Myrtle has been known to show up to get </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> fix, there’s Vincent, skulking in after her like she can’t feel his presence. Still, the attention is nice, however grudgingly given, and Myrtle does her level best to keep drawing him in. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s in the prefect’s bathroom that she finally catches him out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’d been touching herself, just teasingly, watching some sandy-haired Hufflepuff while Vincent hid in the corner. The boy is quick, though, and Myrtle doesn’t really mind because she has other plans tonight. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The door slams shut behind him, echoing in the dark chamber that is never </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> dark when you’re dead, and Myrtle finally shucks her knickers. She hears the muffled grunt of the boy on the other side of the room and she makes an effort to telegraph her actions as clearly as possible as she strips out of her uniform one article at a time, leaving the fabric to evanesce in the steaming air. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She wades into the pool, although she can’t quite feel it, the memory of its warmth briefly chasing away the frigid numbness that is always settled in her now. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Laying back with her breasts clearly visible above the water, Myrtle calls, “Are you going to come out, or what?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She smirks to herself as she hears him choke.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How long have you known I was there?!” he yells indignantly, stomping further out into the room.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know you can’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually</span>
  </em>
  <span> hide in this plane, right?” she says by way of answer. “There’s no real light or dark; you can’t hide in the shadows. And even if you could, I can </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> your presence, you numpty. The same way </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> can find </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Guess I know why you didn’t get sorted Ravenclaw,” she rolls her eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s a short silence.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, you’ve known I was there the </span>
  <em>
    <span>whole time</span>
  </em>
  <span>?!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Myrtle shrugs. “What do I care what you get up to? For all I know, you’re watching the boys just like I was.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Vincent exclaims in disgust. “I wasn’t! I don’t like boys, and I </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> watch people in the bath like you, you bloody voyeur!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Ravenclaw purses her lips and looks at him from over her shoulder, simpering, “And yet here I am. Naked. In the bath. So what is the truth?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Vince jerks in negation, catching himself just barely. “It’s not the same!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Isn’t it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Slytherin growls, “No.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So since it’s apparently alright to watch </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span> when I’m naked but not anybody </span>
  <em>
    <span>else</span>
  </em>
  <span>, are you going to get in, or what?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This startles him. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>What</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Honestly, it’s like leading a horse to water. Literally.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’ve established that I’ve known you were watching me every time,” she explains not-quite patiently. “I’ve watched you get off watching me get off for ages now, so are you going to do anything about it, or shall I get on with it myself?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You, you want to... “ </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What I </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> is a shag for once in my life!” She stands up, not dripping at all but nude and she saw the boy swallow and lick his lips, eyes roaming her naked body in a way that no one ever had the chance to do while she was alive. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He scoffs, bluffing, as she steps closer, arms crossed and framing her breasts, just to be a tease. “You seriously think I’d fuck a mudblood?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She grits her teeth. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>think</span>
  </em>
  <span> you’ll fuck the only girl who’s ever been willing to give you the time of day. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>seriously</span>
  </em>
  <span> doubt any girl would’ve been willing to get you naked Before.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Vincent growls , “Like you’re a bloody prize, you whiny cow!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good enough for you to watch like a creeper, you hypocritical chauvinist!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re calling </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span> hypocritical? You don’t do </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span> except perve on boys and cry!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So what are you going to do about it?” she challenges. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The thread of self-control well and truly snapped, Vince surges forward and slams his mouth against hers painfully and Myrtle gasps, moaning loudly as the boy stuck his tongue down her throat. She clings to him, meeting him eagerly as he plunders her mouth with too much tongue but she doesn’t care because she can </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For the first time in sixty years she actually, genuinely felt a sensation, and once she gets a taste she can’t get enough. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It seems neither can Vincent. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hands roving roughly over her body, he palms and squeezed her breasts and Myrtle feels her cunt flutter in response. Urgently Myrtle pulls him down onto the tile floor, ripping his uniform off as fast as she could. Thankfully he is on the same page, but Myrtle can barely wait for him to slide his trousers off his hips before she’s pulling him in between her legs, grinding herself into him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The new position leaves Vincent in the perfect position to slip a stiff, pink nipple into his mouth and suck hard, bitingly until the flesh is bruised and tender and Myrtle fists his hair tight between her fingers to keep him in place as his other hand resumes its task of playing with her other breast, digging his fingers into her supple flesh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Myrtle wraps her arms around his thick waist and humps him as he pushes his face between her breasts. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Gods, I wanna fuck your tits,” he moans, thrusting his cock between her wet folds and, and Myrtle gives a broken cry as she comes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shit, did you?” Vince looks down at her dazedly, but Myrtle is already moving, flipping them over so she’s on top. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shut up!” she’s demanding as she grabs his cock and places it at her entrance, wasting no time at all before she’s sinking down onto it. “Fuck me!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Vince doesn’t disobey. He grabs her hips and slams up into her, the two setting an inelegant, frenzied rhythm. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Myrtle’s orgasm never gets a chance to fade, instead just building itself back up to another peak as the boy beneath her pummels her in just the way she wants and she’s screaming, ear piercingly as she climaxes again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Vince follows her over, spilling into her as she squeezes and convulses around him, as she writhes above him in a way he’s only seen in magazines. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The whole thing is embarrassingly quick but neither are complaining as Myrtle climbs off of him and flops down beside him on the tile floor. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That…” Myrtle says.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Vince answers. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They lay in the silent afterglow for a long time, floating until the fog returns. Myrtle sniffles.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, it was nice talking to you Victor,” Myrtle says as she stands back up, stretching like it’s even possible for the floor to hurt her back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s Vincent,” Vincent scowls, pushing himself up as well. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who cares,” Myrtle shrugs, flicking her wrist as she fades away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Annoying cunt. </span>
</p><p> </p>
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